I'm the Urban Spaceman (Dean Winchester)
by D.G.Tales
Summary: A female hunter is on a case, but what is she to do when two FBI agents come encroaching?


_I roll out of bed with a smile on my face_

She rolled over and fell out of bed. There was a muffled groan from the floor. She got up and started preparing for the God-awful day ahead of her. She was investigating a case where two teenagers had been brutally murdered by decapitation via window. _It was a nasty business, hunting, _she thought as she started washing her hair. She reckoned it would just be a vengeful spirit and it would be a simple salt and burn, so she could get back for her little sister's birthday party. She came from a long line of hunters almost as old as the Campbell's.

_My natural exuberance spills out all over the place_

"You fucking asshole, go get what's left of the fucking evidence after your monumental fucking cock-up!" She was pissed now. She had had it up to here with stupid as-fuck sheriffs who think they know what they're doing but end up fucking it all up. It made her job ten times harder. She didn't even know how half of them had got the job. They had lost half the evidence from the lock up about the murders she was looking at.

Then another deputy came up to see her and told her that some of her colleagues were here. _Great, _she thought, _more stupid fucking feds, poking their noses in where they're not wanted_. This was gonna add another couple of hours to her research time.

"Hello Agent Sitwell. We're Agents Starsky and Hutch."

"What are you gentlemen here? This is my case."

"Well this is our case now." Said the taller one.

"Well then,_ Agent_" She put as much venom as she possibly could onto that one word, more ice than she had ever used before. "You can call my supervisor."

"And you can call ours," said the smaller one with a cocky grin. It was the first time she had gotten a really close look at him since he had walked in. He was tall, though not as tall at his giant of a partner. He was rather attractive, if you like the tall, green eyed, blonde types. Which she did. However she was nothing if she wasn't loyal (and pissed). She gave him her Mother's number. She often doubled as a FBI Supervisor for her four sons and her daughter.

As the taller one handed her his card, so she dialled the number.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded young, a lot younger than the usual voices. She was used to dealing with the FBI, and she didn't want to jeopardise the hunt. So she played nice.

"Am I talking to the supervisor of FBI agents Starsky and Hutch?"

"Uhh, yeah."

"Well, can you tell me why they were put on my case?"

"They were, uhh closer?"

"Nope"

"They were uhh here before you?"

"Nope"

The taller one had rang the phone number and was currently trying to explain to her mother why they were there. _Good, _she thought, _give 'em hell Mum. _His voice was starting to raise now.

She was starting to get _really _pissed off now.

"Look, can you just tell your agents to fuck off because it's my fucking case, you asshole. Thanks, bub-bye now." Then she slammed her finger down on the end call button.

The taller one was still on the phone. Her mother was probably lecturing him on proper manners when talking to a superior.

"How about a compromise?" That was the shorter one again.

"Whatcha talking about?"

"We work together on the case."

"No. My case. Now, as I said to your superior, fuck off."

"Fine, we'll go. Sorry, hope your day gets better. Thank you for your time."

_If you were to knock me down, I'd just get up again_

As she got slammed into the wall for the third time she realised that she had better find the bones, and quick. She got up and moved over towards the other wall. The ghost appeared so she fired a couple of salt rounds from her shotgun into her. Mary-Jane Sawyer. Her husband had cheated on her and she had found out. She then went into a jealous rage and killed her two teenage children by slamming a window down onto their necks and decapitated them.

A real nasty one. She had to get other to the trunk in the corner that was where her bones were. She managed to run over to the trunk and dropped to her knees, but she couldn't get the latch open. So she decided to burn the whole damn thing.

Then she heard a car pull up outside.

Shit.

At least the job was done. She high-tailed it out of that goddamn house.

What she didn't know was that the car followed her.

_Here comes the twist, I don't exist_

As she got back to her motel she stripped off her FBI monkey suit off and started changing into a pair of pyjamas. Just as she had finished braiding her hair into two braids (it made her look more innocent) when there was a knock at her door. That was odd. She never got visitors.

She grabbed her gun from the bedside table. And walked over to the door. She looked through the peephole to see the feds from earlier. She groaned and lowered her gun. Then she opened the door.

"Can we come in?"

"Sure, I suppose." They came in and she shut the door. Not locking it though, she needed an easy exit if they decided to turn on her. What were their names, Starsky and Hutch? That sounded right.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" She asked in her politest FBI voice. She felt kind of small next to them. Earlier on she had been wearing her heels. She hated wearing them but they did give her the extra few inches she needed to feel threatening. Well, not with these men. Still the gun should be enough shouldn't it?

"Well for starters, you can tell us who you really are, Agent Sitwell? Because that really isn't your real name is it?" 

They were either hunters or demons. She couldn't think which was worse at that point.

Shit.


End file.
